


As long as the wrong feels right

by catwithoutears



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, M/M, Mentions of drugs, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwithoutears/pseuds/catwithoutears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank wipes at his eyes and keeps walking until he doesn't know where he is or how he got there.<br/>He sits cross legged on the pavement and smokes three cigarettes in a row, keeps the smoke in his lungs so he can feel the burn, so he can feel something, anything other than just so helplessly, fucking empty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As long as the wrong feels right

**Author's Note:**

> I've been toying with this idea for a while, and then i read [this amazing fic ](http://mcrnut.livejournal.com/47059.html) and got really inspired.
> 
> Title is from "Love The Way You Lie" by Eminem.

After, Frank just sits in the silence, not moving, barely breathing, and stares blankly at the wall.

He knows he'll be alone until Gerard comes stumbling in at around 4 am, most likely drunk out of his mind. He knows that Gerard won't be much company when he gets home, if he's lucky he won't throw up and just go straight to bed and be out until past noon the next day. He knows he will wear a nice, purple bruise on his cheekbone in the morning, as well as shadows under his eyes and a few flecks of blood on the shirt he didn't bother taking off before he fell asleep. He knows that in the morning, Gerard will stumble out of the bedroom to get coffee and some aspirins, glance at him, and act like nothing happened. That's the way it always goes.

The apartment is dark and silent, the sun went down a while ago but Frank doesn't bother to get up and turn on any light. That way it's easier to pretend he isn't really there, that he doesn't exist at all. He doesn't stir for what feels like days, until a bird chirps outside the window, and Frank notices it hurts to move his eyes. That usually means it's dawn soon, and that Gerard will be home within the hour. Not that Frank will get up and check how much his watch says, and the hour of waiting will feel like an eternity. He knows; this is how it always goes.

When there's the sound of keys not really fitting in the lock, and Gerard eventually stumbles into the hall, the door slamming behind him, Frank sits still in complete silence. He closes his eyes and focuses on not breathing too loudly, and listens to Gerard mumble drunken, intelligible things into the air. He hears a sob, then the bedroom door falling shut. He lets his head slide down to rest against the couch, and stares at the ceiling until he falls into an uneasy sleep.

*

Frank closes his eyes and lets his head thunk against the wall, feeling his lip throbbing. He doesn't have to bring his hand up to touch it to know it's bleeding. A split lip isn't really anything new, and he puts his hand against Gerard's cheek, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone. Gerard leans in and kisses him, almost violently, but so, so sweet; he licks the blood off Frank's split lip and curls a hand in the hair on the back of his neck.Frank melts into it, presses himself against Gerard's body and he wants to shove him away at the same time as he wants him so close he can't breathe.

He fists his hands in Gerard's shirt and shoves at his chest, hard, so thy break apart, and Frank misses his lips so bad, but he bares his teeth, clenching them to keep them from chattering. Glares at Gerard with as much ferocity as he can manage.

Concern crosses Gerard's eyes, and he strokes Frank's hair, down the side of his face and down to his jaw. He lets his forehead fall hopelessly against Frank's collarbone as he closes his eyes and clutches at Frank's shoulders. Frank hears him let out a pained, resigned sigh, and puts his arms around him until they both slide down the wall and sink to the floor.

*

Frank sits on the couch with one arm around his knees, smoking helplessly in the silence as the dust settles. It'll probably settle on him as well, together with the ash he won't bother to flick away. He doesn't understand why the hell he wants Gerard back here with him, when he was the one to yell at him to leave. He doesn't really care where Gerard is, he's probably out drinking and fucking some random chick in a bar bathroom.

Frank watches the smoke swirl from the end of his cigarette up under the ceiling and disappear, doesn't focus on the ache he feels everywhere. The ache that Gerard caused, and that only Gerard can take away. He flicks the cigarette butt onto the floor, and vaguely hopes he doesn't start a fire, but thinks that he wouldn't be too sad if he did.

His head hurts, so he slowly lifts himself up off the couch, his limbs stiff, and leans against the kitchen counter as he downs the last mouthfuls of the Jack Daniels that's been there since last week. He doesn't know who put it there, and he doesn't particularly care; he lights another cigarette and sits on the counter until he hears the door open and close and Gerard's footsteps in the hall.

*

Frank is lying awake, staring at the ceiling when beside him, Gerard stirs and sits upright in bed with a shout. Frank is there immediately, touching his face and petting his hair and whispering sweet things in the darkness and says it's gonna be okay, it was just a dream. Gerard clings to him, trembling, breathing quickly and occasionally whimpering into Frank's neck. Frank hold him close and strokes his hand up and down his back until his breathing slows, and they curl up together under the sheets, Gerard's breaths on the crook of Frank's neck and his fingers curled in Frank's shirt.

*

Frank curls in on himself and hopes the next kick won't hurt as much as the one to his stomach had. It hits him in the back, and he moans in agony and grief, prays for it to be over soon. He screams when Gerard kicks him in the spine, and through the fog in his brain and the pain in his body he can hear something break close to him, some angry huffs, and then it's silent.

Frank stays curled up on the floor and listens for any sound, any sign that Gerard is coming back. There's nothing but his own rasping breaths and the ringing in his ears.

When everything seems to have stilled, Frank lifts his head, uncurls his arms from around his knees and looks around. Their entire living room is a mess, Gerard kicked over the shelves by the wall and the coffee table; books and papers and cigarette butts and pens and ash and half empty bottles of booze lies scattered around, and there's a knocked over bottle of beer that's making a wet puddle on the floor.

Frank can see the dust flecks move slowly in the air reflected in the light that falls through the curtains.

On the dirty couch sits Gerard with his head in his hands.

Frank steps on some pieces of broken glass when he gets to his feet, and the sound makes Gerard lift his head. He looks at Frank with red-rimmed, desperate eyes, begging him for something Frank knows he will always give him. He steps through the mess on the floor, dust clouds rising and swirling around him and glass shard cracking under his shoes. He sits down next to Gerard on the couch, and when Gerard shuts his eyes in a grimace of pain and leans in and kisses him, he kisses back, puts his hand on Gerard's thigh to tell him it's okay.

Gerard pushes him backward until his back hits the couch, but this time he's not harsh or angry or violent, this time, he's gentle and sweet and careful as he slides his fingers under Frank's shirt. Frank feels something hot and wet fall onto his cheek, but he doesn't say anything about it, only wraps his legs around Gerard's waist and pushes his face into his neck.

*

Frank jerks awake, he's panting and sweating, he's not sure if he screamed.

He looks over to Gerard's side of the bed, but it's empty and cold. He whimpers and wraps his arms around his own, shaking shoulders.

«Gee?» he says, his voice shaking.

Silence.

«Gerard?» his voice comes out high pitched and sounds more like a sob than anything.

«Gerard..» he tries one more time, but it comes out as a broken whimper. On trembling feet he steps out of the bedroom and down the hall to the living room.

Gerard sits on the armrest of the couch smoking a cigarette in the dark and staring out into the air. Frank loses his direction in the doorway and stands there helplessly, waiting for Gerard to turn and look at him.

«Gee..» he whispers hoarsely after what feels like forever; when the cherry of Gerard's cigarette is down to the filter, and he stubs it out in the makeshift whisky glass ashtray in the windowsill, where the last drops of booze mixes with ash and turns grey and muddy. Gerard barely moves his head, looks at Frank with tired eyes. He raises his eyebrows, as if asking «What do you want?» and Frank lets out the breath he's been holding.

«Come back to bed?» he pleads, hoping it isn't too much to ask.

Gerard turns his head away and neither says anything or moves. Frank sighs hopelessly and goes back to the bedroom alone, trying to ignore the ache in his chest and the gripping fear that still has him from the nightmare. He lays down on his pillow, realizes it's damp from tears. He turns it over and pulls the covers tightly around himself, dreading and praying to go to sleep again.

He's still awake when he hears footsteps in the hall and feels the bed dip.

The other side if his pillow is damp now, too.

Gerard curls up along Frank's back, puts his warm arm around his waist and breathes feather light on the back of Frank's neck.

«I'm sorry I left,» he whispers into Frank's skin, kisses the dip between his shoulders. Frank doesn't say a word and pretends he is asleep.

*

Frank knows that no matter how many times Gerard gives him a black eye and makes his body so sore it hurts too much to move, he will keep coming back to him, and he knows Gerard will put ice on his bruised face and stroke his hair and say he's sorry. And he knows he means it.

Frank knows that even though he throws his fists at Gerard as hard as he can and often hopes he'll break his nose, he'll come caress his face when the fight has stilled down, that he'll kiss Gerard's jaw where he hit him.

Frank knows that when Gerard says «I love you» he means it and when he says «I hate you» he doesn't.

Frank knows that Gerard isn't rough to be mean, he's just sad and angry and he doesn't want Frank to leave, even though he disappears and gets drunk and fucks strangers just so he can feel like he's still alive.

Frank knows all of this, and still he's stuffing a couple of kind of clean shirts, some socks, a bottle of vodka he found in the closet, a raincoat and a phone charger into a backpack and makes for the front door while Gerard cries helplessly from the doorway to the trashed living room, begging Frank to change his mind.

«I'll do anything, I swear, I'll be good! Please, Frank!» he sobs, and Frank doubts he can see through his tears, because he stumbles towards him on shaky legs as he puts on his shoe.

«Please don't leave, Frank! I love you! You're everything to me!» he pleads, as he falls to his knees and tries to grab Frank's legs. Frank steps away from him and puts on his other shoe, puts down his bag and takes his jacket off the hanger.

«No, Gerard,» is all he says as he puts his arms through the sleeves. When he bends down to pick up the backpack, Gerard gets to his feet and launches himself at him, grabbing his arm and screaming at him.

«Don't go, _please!_ _Please!_ »

Frank's fist connects with Gerard's face, and he lets go of his arm and falls to the floor. Frank glances at him before he swings the backpack over his shoulders and storms out the door. He wipes at his eyes and keeps walking until he doesn't know where he is or how he got there, and his knees give in.

He sits cross legged on the pavement and smokes three cigarettes in a row, keeps the smoke in his lungs so he can feel the burn, so he can feel _something_ , _anything_ other than just so helplessly, fucking empty.

*

The apartment is quiet when Frank shuts the unlocked door behind him and toes his shoes off in the dark hall. He takes careful steps on the slightly creaking floorboards, and stops in the doorway to the living room.

Gerard sits on the floor among the mess no one bothered cleaning up, in the same clothes he's worn when Frank walked out, his hair falling in dirty, messy strands over his face; he doesn't look like he's washed in days.

He lifts his gaze to Frank in the doorway, fixes him slowly with glassy eyes. His eyes are red, his pupils huge, and Frank feels his stomach drop, because Gerard only does that when it gets really bad.

It doesn't look like he registers Frank standing there, or like maybe he does, but in his drug induced state, knows it isn't real. He bows his head, chokes back a sob, and lifts the almost empty bottle he's clutching weakly to his mouth and downs the rest of it. He sways a bit, and lifts the bottle to his mouth again, like he doesn't realize it's empty, and Frank just stands in the doorway and looks at him, looks at how his eyes are full of pain and guilt and drunken emotion, and listens to him sigh thickly and hiccup before he lets go of the bottle and lets it roll away from him.

Gerard sniffs, fumbles for his pocket and clumsily pulls out a wrinkly pack of cigarettes and a lighter, but puts the wrong end of the cigarette between his lips when he at last manages to find his mouth. Just when he's about to light the filter end, he looks up and meets Frank's eyes, and something gets through to him. Frank sees his eyes water.

“Frankie..” he says, the cigarette falling down into his lap, his voice rough from the booze and the crying.

“You came back..” He looks like he wants to say something more, but he's too high and drunk to get it out. Frank takes the steps over to him, makes sure not to step in the puddle of beer and at least a dozen cigarette butts, and crouches down in front of him, wraps his arms around his shoulders.

“Of course I did,” he says and sits back on his heels, picks the cigarette from Gerard's lap and the lighter from his hand and puts them back in the wrinkly pack, puts it down on the floor.

“I love you,” Gerard says through tears, and fists his hands in Frank's jacket, desperately trying to pull him close, but realizing it's no use.

“I know,” Frank says and pets his hair, wipes a few tears off his cheek. “I can't stand up,” Gerard slurs miserably, and Frank knows that too, so he hooks his hands under Gerard's armpits and hauls him to his feet. He isn't walking completely on his own, but Frank gets his shoulders under Gerard's arm, and manages to get him into bed. He pulls off Gerard's dirty jeans and shirt and socks, and puts a couple of aspirins and a glass of water on the night stand before he shuts off the light and climbs into bed next to him.

Things seem like they might, juts maybe, be okay in the morning.

*

Frank pushes Gerard back onto the mattress and settles between his legs, pressing as close as he can possibly manage, like the two of them could somehow melt together into one lump of frustration and lust.

Gerard moans when Frank sucks on his neck, and he whimpers when Frank grinds his hips down, and he looks at Frank with both love and fear and want just before Frank pushes in.

They fuck, and it's definitely not gentle, Gerard scratches hard at Frank's back and hits his head on the headboard and Frank bites at Gerard's neck to make him moan louder.

Gerard tightens his legs around Frank's waist and keens high in his throat as he comes, and just before Frank loses all thought but _GerardGerardGerard_ , he hears him breathe “I love you” into his neck, and it's all he's got.

 

Frank throws an arm over Gerard's waist, and they curl up under the clammy sheets, catching their breaths.

“I love you too,” Frank says when his heart has slowed down, but Gerard just breathes and Frank's doesn't know if he's already asleep.


End file.
